Yellow Light
by Mithlomiel
Summary: sequel to mysterious and strange stockton chronicles. this further enlightens us on what happened with jo and her ex-friends in transylvania where she was dropped down a cliff but then came back to kill her friends...weird, huh? read more to find out.
1. Prologue

*The sole owner of Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling…drat it!*  
  
~Prologue  
  
"My lord," a man wearing a black cloak knocked on a small wooden door. "My lord, you have called for me?"  
  
"Yes," came a hiss from the other side of the door. "yes, I did call upon you, Lucius. I have decided that it be tonight."  
  
"Might I enter, my lord?"  
  
"Enter."  
  
Lucius entered the dimly lit room and saw that his master was staring out the small window in the room.  
  
"Tonight, my lord?" Lucius asked, using his words carefully.  
  
"Yes, Lucius," the other man turned away from the window and smiled grimly at Lucius. His pale face and red, slit eyes gave him the look of a serpent. This man was Lord Voldemort.  
  
"I have decided that I shall leave for London late and finish the task that I've been waiting so long to do in a couple months to come." Voldemort said.  
  
"My lord, do you think such a time is right?" Lucius asked, his eyes staring at the ground.  
  
"Do not question my moves, Lucius!" Voldemort hissed. "It is the right time. Everything will happen accordingly, thanks to—"  
  
But his sentence was unfinished as a knock interrupted him.  
  
"Come in," Voldemort said sharply. In entered another man in a black cloak.  
  
"Letter for you, sir, from Transylvania."  
  
"Ah. Hand it over."  
  
Voldemort took the letter and the man left. He ripped the envelope open and pulled the piece of parchment and began reading. His eyes widened rapidly as he finished the letter.  
  
"My lord?" Lucius questioned.  
  
Voldemort crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it to the floor.  
  
"The five are dead." He muttered. Lucius's brow lifted but he said nothing.  
  
"Is it affirmative?"  
  
"Very."  
  
"Who is the culprit?"  
  
"Who else?" Voldemort snarled. "That wretched girl, Jo Stockton of course!"  
  
He sighed angrily.  
  
"Those five were worthy ones for the Dark cause. They were ambitious and capable of attaining high powers. I cannot BELIEVE this lowly…GIRL finished them!"  
  
"There must be some reason for this…" Lucius mused with a frown.  
  
"Well, we'll find out whatever that reason is later. She is not my problem as of now. I shall be leaving for London late. Is everything ready?"  
  
"Of course, master." Lucius smiled and bowed accordingly.  
  
"Good," Voldemort said. "I shall see you later."  
  
"My lord." Lucius bowed again and left to his chambers and waited, wondering when his master would call upon him again.  
  
Little did he know that this was the last time he'd be heralded into a meeting with Voldemort again that night. Or for that matter, for long years to come. 


	2. Hidden From View

*The sole owner of Harry Potter is J.K. Rowling…drat it!*  
  
~¤ Enjoy this chapter because it's going to be a while before I put the next one in…I'm going to busy this coming week. Have fun! ¤~  
  
Hidden from View  
  
Jo woke up with a start. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again and stared at the scene in front of her. It was all calm and quiet and dark, just as it was supposed to be. She took a few breaths of relief and sank back against her pillow.  
  
That dream. Oh, that dream! Again and again, it brought back the memories she so hoped to lose. Why did they haunt her still?  
  
She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. Three o'clock in the morning it read. She sighed once more and got off the bed. She could not sleep anymore.  
  
She flicked the light switch in the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water, then leaned against the countertop. Why did she keep dreaming about them? What had she done wrong? She wondered these statements time and again. Her past would not leave her.  
  
She placed the empty glass on the countertop and ran a hand through her dark hair and pulled out a tablet of paper and a pen. She bit her lip, took a seat at the small dining table, and began writing.  
  
"It has now been five years. Five years since the day that I was supposedly found next to dead bodies, bodies that had belonged to five old friends of mine. I was the only one who was breathing amongst us all.  
  
To this day, I do not know what really happened. Those five friends had betrayed me and had turned to the cause of Lord Voldemort. They had attempted to kill me once, but had failed. So I was going to be dumped down a waterfall that day and die.  
  
But it did not happen. I remember that I was floating high above the waterfall. Jack had me magicked to stay up there. I closed my eyes for a minute, praying and hoping to get out of there, but the next thing I knew, as I opened my eyes, I felt the wind pushing me down, down, down into the deep raging waters and the jagged rocks below.  
  
I felt my body crash. I felt pain and knew I would surely die.  
  
But I didn't.  
  
A week later, I awoke in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. I was told I was found next to a heap that belonged to my friends's bodies. They had said I was barely breathing when they found me.  
  
I do not know whether I killed them. I do not know what happened after falling into the water. I remember the world going black and the next thing I knew, I was in the Infirmary.  
  
It is a mystery. A mystery that hasn't been solved for five years. And as soon as I returned home for holidays that year, I didn't stay long.  
  
I couldn't. I couldn't stay in that suffocated house full of questioning stares, heated arguments, and Ministry workers. No, I couldn't stand it! My father, day in and day out, saying how he had known all along that my old friends were bad seeds that had finally been killed by their own poison; my mother, throwing ashamed looks at me, giving me the indication that she believed I was responsible for their deaths; and the Ministry workers, coming in to speak with my father everyday—they were the worst. They'd tell me how proud they were that I'd gotten rid of five potential Death Eaters and how I must get an Order of Merlin and all that trash. I did not WANT an Order of Merlin! I did not want anything! All I wanted was the truth! I wanted to know what had truly happened, and I wanted those bloody Ministry workers to get the hell out of my face and just shut up!  
  
I hated them. After what had happened, I hated the Ministry workers, those who thought they were much better, much more human, than the Death Eaters. There's no difference between them. Not all the lightsiders are as hars as the Death Eaters, but most Ministry members skin their captives alive if they get the chance. I hated them.  
  
My only consolation was my grandfather, who himself was an Auror. He did not harm the Death Eaters he caught, or at least, he tried not to. But when he was under the horrid orders to exterminate the captives, he'd reluctantly do so. He knew that us light-siders weren't any different from the Death Eaters. And I appreciated that.  
  
But what my grandfather gave wasn't enough. I couldn't bear staying in that house. I did not like anything that went on in there, and that is why I left. I left on July 1st, at midnight, not bothering to leave a good-bye note or anything. I was relieved, as I slung my travel bag filled with my basic necessities over my shoulder, to finally be free of the smoke that filled my lungs. I decided I wasn't going back. I did not want to face my father or mother again or even go back to Hogwarts and meet with my friends. I didn't care if I wouldn't finish my Seventh Year. And so I ran away from home and made my way to France. And in France I've stayed, in a little town named St. Marie, for five years. And I hope I will not return to England ever. I am satisfied living here, even if it means I'm surrounded by Muggles. I am a half-Muggle and I do not mind. I am isolated from the wizarding world and that is all that matters.  
  
But I still struggle from the past. Dreams shatter me by giving me sleepless nights, dreams which relive the night when I came, resurrected, to kill my friends. Or did I kill my friends? I do not know. I do not know to this day. And I do not want to find out."  
  
She placed the pen down onto the sheet of paper and sighed softly. Then she rose from the chair, stretched a little, and turned off the light. She returned to her bedroom and laid herself onto the bed.  
  
She tried to sleep. It never came. 


End file.
